


For What It's Worth

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hospice, M/M, dying young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Genetically engineered clones weren't made to live long. When Prompto finds out he has just months to live, he calls Ignis. Ignis will know what to do.





	1. Month 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the ffxv_kinkmeme prompt here https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=7050001#cmt7050001
>
>> I got to sing, I got to dance  
> I got to be a part of a great romance  
> Still forbidden, still outrageous  
> Only a few around us knew  
> I got to love, I rode the rails  
> You came with me because you cared  
> I was broke and I was scared  
> You held my hand and took away my fear  
> We knew we couldn't last  
> And that was hard.  
> Stevie Nicks, For What It's Worth

Prompto was half-dozing when the door slid to the side and the privacy curtain was encountered and then deftly evaded. 

"Sorry to drag you out here," Prompto said. Ignis turned his head towards his voice. He looked just as Iggy as ever: his button-down shirt was pressed with the sleeves neatly folded up, and he was wearing a snazzy dark purple waistcoat which Prompto thought was new. "The bathroom's to your left, then there's the sink and a chair, and the bed's in front of the window."

"And you, I take it, are in the bed." Ignis navigated the room without any visible hesitation, finding the chair and leaning his cane against it. His hand found the edge of the bed – complete with railing – and lingered there. "Will I be disturbing any equipment with an embrace?"

"No problem," Prompto assured him. "Embrace away." He reached up and caught Ignis' hand, pointing out the IV thing and the oxygen thing as he pulled him down. He didn't mention how that much exertion just about wiped him out, but he assumed Ignis would figure it out. That was what he did.

He let himself relax and enjoy the hug: strong warm hands on his shoulders, the press of Ignis' cheek against his own, a gentle tousle of his hair as Ignis pulled back to settle into the chair.

"So," Ignis started. He left his hand on Prompto's shoulder, warm and comforting. "Obviously, I received your message. Would you care to elaborate?"

Prompto thought that sounded very civilized. He'd only sent the message the day before and Ignis must have left as soon as he got word – and traveled through the night – to be here this soon. It was unfair of him to look and sound this good, really. Weren't forty-year-olds supposed to slow down and start graying and go thick around the middle?

Ignis was _forty_. The gods were unfair, because Prompto never would be.

"I don't think the Niffs cloned MTs to last," Prompto said, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see Ignis' reaction. "Like I said, the doctors don't think I'll make it to the end of the year. My lungs are shot – " as if Ignis couldn't hear how he had to keep stopping to get his breath – "I just had my necrotic pancreas yoinked, my bones are brittle, and apparently my heart is a time bomb. But fuck me if I'll die in a hospital. Quality of remaining days over quantity, right? I want to go home."

Ignis didn't even pause to think the idea over. Classic Iggy. "Certainly. When will you be able to leave?"

Prompto sucked in a shuddering breath, and then another, and made himself look Ignis in the face. "They'll only release me if I have – I forget what it's called – a caretaker. Chaperone? I said you were my fiance."

The confession earned a head-tilt, as if Ignis were struggling to contemplate just how serious Prompto was. But after a moment he just sighed and let his mouth curl into the faintest of smirks. "You've been reading Gladio's books."

"For the plot," Prompto insisted. "Not just the smut."

"I've always wanted a fake dying boyfriend," Ignis said, voice as dry as tinder. "How much luckier could my day get?"

"Someday, you're going to actually hurt my feelings and then you'll be sorry," Prompto warned, but it was hard to steal sympathy points when he was grinning. "I hate to impose, et cetera et cetera, but _damn_ I'm glad you came."

Ignis held his free hand out. "Cling to me, then, darling," he murmured. Prompto had no idea what was up, but he grabbed Ignis' hand and pulled it up to press a quick loud kiss to his knuckles. Ignis wrinkled his nose and tried to wipe his hand off on the sheet, but Prompto wasn't letting him get away so easily. Next time, he was going to use _teeth_.

That was when the nurse on duty slid door open and shoved the curtain aside to poked his head in. He looked irritated by everything he saw: the gentle hand-holding tussle, the way Ignis' head turned sharply as if assessing a threat, the dark glasses and the cane. Prompto felt guilty (for what, he had no idea), and then was hit by a wave of weary exasperation.

"Mr Argentum," the nurse said. "I see you're awake."

Ignis' thumb rubbed across the back of his hand, slow and comforting enough to stop Prompto from retorting, _and I see you're an asshole when you get stuck on evening shift_.

"Please forgive me for not rising," Ignis said smoothly. He turned in his chair and aimed a nod towards the doorway – polite, but the polar opposite of obsequious. "Ignis Scientia."

"The better half," Prompto supplied, as if their linked hands weren't a big enough (albeit expertly staged) hint.

Ignis shot him a chiding look.

"I'll tell the doctor," the nurse said, and disappeared down the corridor.

Ignis gave Prompto an abstracted pat, and then got up to close the curtain over the doorway. "I assume you forgot to mention the blindness."

Prompto couldn't figure out if Ignis thought this had been clever, or insulting, or dumb. When in doubt, insert bad joke here. "You know what they say about love being – "

"Hush." Ignis managed to make the word sound like a dire threat.

"Zip zip zip," Prompto said, and then mashed his lips together. He didn't make the effort of the zipper gesture – why waste energy on that when he didn't have a seeing audience?

Ignis made his way back to the chair and settled down, taking his phone out and then pausing. "May I use this without affecting whatever you're attached to?"

"Go for it. It's just IVs and stuff."

"Ah." Ignis sent off a flurry of messages, and Prompto let himself be lulled by the deftness of his fingers and the monotone of the screen reader. He'd slept with Ignis, on and off, during the ten years Noct was gone – Prompto wasn't even sure it had been a relationship. More like the extended dance mix of _hello, I see you're still alive, so am I, that makes today a good day_. After Noct came back and then died, neither of them had made a move to start up again. Prompto had settled here in Galdin Quay, and Ignis... wandered. He knew Gladio and Ignis had been fighting about this for years, and he kind of understood. Gladio didn't want to lose another of their brotherhood.

Looked like it was going to happen anyway, though. Damn. He was not looking forward to telling Gladio the news.

He slipped into a hazy sleep, where he was vaguely aware of people in the room and quiet conversations, but at the same time he was walking around a lake that, in his dream, kept growing so that he could never return to the place he started, even though he wanted to. He was sad about that, but he still kept on walking, until he woke with a start to someone calling his name.

Ignis helped him sip water until he was as close to clear-headed as he got, considering the drugs he was on. Ignis said he'd made appointments with this-and-that hospital officials to get the paperwork expedited and set up the home care services they'd need. Prompto hadn't thought about that; this was why he needed an Ignis around, to do the thinking.

"But then we can go home?" he asked. If he sounded pathetic, it was just the lingering weirdness from the dream.

Ignis reached up to push Prompto's hair back off his forehead – probably checking for fever at first, but his fingers lingered, brushing idly through his hair as if measuring its length and attempting to impose order on chaos. He always tried, he always failed. But it was worth it. Ignis smiled more after he lost his sight, for some reason, and he was smiling now, a faint, private curl of his lips that made Prompto's heart skip a beat for non-dying reasons.

"We can go home," Ignis agreed. "Don't worry."

*

Prompto's home was a former rental bungalow, probably meant for vacationing families. There were ten nearly identical cottages down each side of the lane, each with space for a car in front and a fenced-in yard in the back. Access to the beach was a short walk down a gravel path. The area was overgrown and derelict, but untouched by daemons – probably there hadn't been many vacationers when the Night fell.

His front door opened into the kitchen area, and the dining-slash-living room was beyond, with an ocean view through sliding glass doors. His bedroom also faced the ocean; he used the front one as a darkroom and office.

He'd been taken to the hospital after collapsing in agonizing pain at the open-air market, and between medical tests and medication and surgery and the announcement of his impending death, he hadn't had much time to worry about weeds encroaching on his garden or the food in his icebox going bad. Praise the Six for Ignis, once again, because those were exactly the kinds of things he excelled at managing.

Like for instance, the wheelchair ramp up Ignis used to push him up to the front porch, and the way the furniture had been rearranged to quote-unquote accommodate his mobility, even though that meant Ignis was probably going to stumble into a chair trying to get to coffee in the morning. A cot had been set up in Prompto's bedroom against the wall, so Ignis could hear if he had trouble in the night, and so on. There were fresh flowers in a vase on the dining table, and a covered pot of something that smelled _awesome_ on the stove.

Prompto was less thrilled to find out that he now had a _staff_ , but Ignis stiffly informed him they were necessary. His sour expression suggested there was a story there that he didn't want to share. Prompto suspected he'd gone head-to-head with someone over his suitability as primary caregiver, and lost. Still, the nurse would only be coming by once a day, and the home helper in the morning and evening.

"I also hired the woman down the road to take care of your plants, but I trust she'll be unobtrusive," Ignis said. "Do you want to lie down, or – ?"

"Nope," Prompto said, trying to project cheerful determination. "I'm going to get up and walk over there and sit on my sofa. Look out at the ocean. You should join me."

"Perhaps," Ignis said, in a way that meant _no_. "Allow me to assist."

Prompto was amused by the picture they must make, a young guy shuffling along, leaning on a blind dude. Once he was settled – which involved pillows and a blanket – he realized he didn't have his phone and had to ask Ignis to bring it over.

"Thanks, man," Prompto said, embarrassed. "Seriously, try the sofa, it's comfy."

"Let me make the tea first," Ignis said. Prompto scrunched up his nose; he hated the herbal tea that the hospital dietitian insisted he drink. But everything he ate or drank now had to be part of a calculation, designed to deliver nutrients and calories efficiently. At least with Ignis here, he could hope that there'd be flavor.

"I'm going to write to Gladio," Prompto said to Ignis' retreating back. "Can't keep putting it off."

"Good," Ignis said, and then fell silent.

Prompto wrote and deleted three messages before giving up. He decided he needed to tell Gladio in person, and after getting distracted agreement from Ignis, invited him over the following weekend. He mentioned that Ignis had moved in – for the time being – and Gladio's response sounded relieved. Prompto supposed Ignis had that effect on everyone: if he was involved, nothing would go wrong.

*

When Gladio's truck pulled up in front of the house, Ignis stopped being obsessive in the kitchen and headed out to meet him. Prompto was snug under his blankets on the sofa and decided to save his energy for talking.

Or... maybe he didn't need to say anything, because Gladio stopped so short in the front doorway that Ignis walked right into him.

"The fuck," Gladio said, shifting to the side and clapping Ignis' shoulder in apology. "What's going on?"

"Prompto's father was an evil, loathsome monster," Ignis summed up. He made his way forward to the table carefully, arms laden with boxes and bags.

Gladio followed, dropping his own armload down haphazard for Ignis to deal with. He headed straight over to the sofa and dropped into a crouch next to Prompto. The worry on his face made Prompto ache.

"What's up, kiddo?"

Better to rip the bandage off quickly. "I've got maybe three, four months left to live," Prompto said. Gladio flinched like he'd been punched in the face. "Optimistically speaking. But I'm not in pain and they let me come home because Ignis is here."

"Mother _fucker_ ," Gladio said softly, and wrapped Prompto up in a cautious hug. Prompto wished he could get the full-on traditional Gladio crush, but he honestly didn't know if his bones could take it. "Your message made it sound like you'd finally managed to tie Iggy down."

"Kind of," Prompto argued, because wasn't Ignis stuck here anyway?

"Definitely," Ignis corrected with a sigh. Prompto guessed all their little secrets were going to be aired. He didn't think Gladio would like this one. "The most expedient way for me to be allowed to make legal and medical decisions turned out to be marriage of convenience. Which makes this, I suppose, our honeymoon."

The look Gladio gave Prompto was a mixture of sorrow and reproach that he didn't quite understand.

"I brought a ton of food. We can at least celebrate like it's the real thing."

"Prompto has dietary restrictions," Ignis said. "But the grill's in the back, if you want to choose one of these chunks of meat to defrost." He gestured to half of the bags. "Did you bring me an entire catoblepas?"

"Dualhorn," Gladio corrected. "Waste not, want not." He gave Prompto a firm pat and pushed himself up. "Let me help you put stuff away."


	2. Month 2

Gladio had a wife and kids now, and a paying job, as weird as it was to think about. He worked out a schedule where he was able to stay over one to three days a week, setting up a tent in the yard to sleep in _just like old times, huh?_.

In a lot of ways, Prompto was relieved to not be alone with Ignis all the time. Ignis was a frankly terrifying caregiver, following every instruction perfectly, like that was some kind of magic formula that would keep death at bay. Prompto missed magic. Potions had reset him back to normal; the medicines he took always had trade-offs. He could be pain-free but at the cost of not be able to think straight, and his heart was kept functioning with a side order of headaches, dizziness, and exhaustion.

Some day, the fact that Ignis was going to lose this battle was going to sink home, and Prompto almost didn't want to be around for that. Ignis deserved better.

One morning the home helper – Gen – got Prompto up and dressed, clean shaven and medicated, and then helped him shuffle out of the bedroom and over to the table for breakfast. Prompto knew he sounded grumpy when he said that he used to run ten kilos every morning and never breathed this hard, but it was true. Amazing how quickly all his health had just melted away.

Gladio was seated already, but he got up when Prompto sat and said, "Hey." He went to go fill a bowl full of Ignis' latest gruel recipe and plonked it on the table with a grin. "I made Iggy take the day off. He was looking more dead on his feet than you." Behind Prompto, Gen snorted; he was still getting used to the warped senses of humor everyone had.

"Later, man," Gen said, giving a chill nod. "Have a good one." He saw himself out, whistling under his breath. Prompto liked him, though he didn't get how anyone could enjoy the job he did.

"I want to go to Angelgard," Prompto said when he'd eaten as much as he could, and Gladio was writing down how many grams that was in the care log. Gladio looked at him like he was an idiot. "I'm never going to get healthier than this," Prompto pointed out. "I go every year, to pay my respects and stuff. You know I can't ask Ignis."

"Fuck." Gladio grimaced at that, but he grabbed his phone to call around for permission. The tombs and the shrine on the mainland were open to the public, and at this point there were probably more pilgrims coming to pay their respects than vacationers. Ignis said – rather scornfully – that it was like watching a religion being born. Only a very few were allowed to set foot on the sacred ground of Angelgard itself, for fear of calling down the wrath of the Six: just those who had fought with the King of Light, and when they had all passed into the beyond, the island would be barred to all.

They drove down muffled in Gladio's uncomfortable disapproval, picking up flowers and candles on the way. Prompto felt weird saying farewell at the tombs – more like, _see you soon_ – and he napped on the boat ride over, the waves lapping at the sides making him dream of the lake again. Gladio managed to brute-force the wheelchair halfway up the path to the old prison but no further, so Prompto had to be carried the rest of the way.

"Like a bride," Prompto laughed helplessly into Gladio's shoulder. "My hero."

Prompto's skin began to prickle as they approached the shadowed entryway, all the hair on his arms standing on end like the air was charged with magic or electricity, a hint of unknowable power whose attention he did _not_ want to attract.

A rough altar had been built before the stairs, and Gladio settled Prompto on the ground, wrapped up in his blanket with his back to a sun-warmed stone, while he rinsed the topstone clean with a bottleful of water, and then made the offerings to the Six. Despite the sea breeze, the candle flames didn't flicker or gutter, their wisps of smoke rising straight.

For a moment, Gladio looked like he might pray or something, which made Prompto a bit nervous – he knew how gods granted wishes, that was why Ignis was _blind_ and Noct was dead. But then Gladio got to his feet, rolled his shoulders back, and broke out the lunch he'd packed. He settled next to Prompto and helped him out, which hardly even registered as humiliating these days. Just another thing Prompto was giving up. Speaking of which...

"Hey, Gladio."

Gladio waved one hand while chewing, intent on shoving in the last bit of his his meat sandwich.

"I want to ask you a huge favor."

Gladio chewed, swallowed, and then sighed heavily; the flames didn't stir. "I'm not ready to hear your last wishes. I know – I _know_ , okay? But I'm trying real hard not to believe."

"I've been there." Prompto fiddled with the fringe on the edge of the blanket Gladio'd wrapped him up in. They'd probably need to wash it when they got home. Ignis would be displeased. "Promise me you'll look after Ignis when I'm gone."

Gladio stared out at the ocean, a deep and roiling blue visible beyond the stone plaza. Maybe he was wondering what kind of fish lived off the shores of the gods' own island, or perhaps he was just avoiding Prompto's gaze.

"He'd hate that," Gladio said finally. "He'd be a condescending prick and thank me for my concern, and then fuck off to Niflheim again. There's no one in this world who can look after that man."

Prompto wet his lips. He wanted Ignis to stay in his little house with the view out over a kickass beach, and tend to the garden, and sleep in his bed with someone who loved him. "He won't tell me what he does when he goes there."

Gladio shoved to his feet and stretched; avoidance tactic number two. "Remember when we found you in Zegnautus, you and Noct had a heart-to-heart while me and Ignis pretended we weren't eavesdropping? Noct promised you, when he was king, he'd unite Lucis and Niflheim, except – yeah. So guess who's decided that's his life mission."

Prompto tried to wrap his head around that, and failed. "Is it working?"

"You know how much Ignis loves talking about himself. It used to be – when Noct was alive, we had a shared purpose, and we knew each others' strengths and weaknesses. After he was gone and the world was saved, it took years to figure out how to have different ambitions, and by the time I got my head out of my own ass, you and Iggy were on opposite sides of Lucis and barely talking. Never figured that one out. You were good for each other during the darkness. I know he loved you like crazy."

Prompto's eyes went wide, and every beat of his poor struggling heart thudded heavy in his chest. _Oh._

His thoughts must have been clear on his face, because Gladio grimaced and said, "He never said."

"Not one word."

"Eh. He's a do-er, not a tell-er." Gladio dug in his pack for Prompto's medicines and helped him wash the pills down with water from a flask. "Probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway."

Prompto slumped, at the limit for how much energy he had to expend today... this week... whatever. "Would've," he muttered stubbornly as he fought his dropping eyelids. "To me."

"Time to head home?" he heard Gladio ask, and he rallied just enough to make an affirmative noise. If Noct didn't know by now that Prompto was on his way, he didn't know how else to get the message to him.

He slept the whole way home, and barely had the strength to eat dinner, despite the way Ignis coaxed. Through his daze, he heard Gladio and Ignis talking – not yelling, which he'd worried about. Gladio even laughed, an air-shaking rumble that made Prompto smile, and eased him into his drugged, dream-fraught sleep.


	3. Month 3

The doctor had warned Prompto (and Ignis) to be wary of what she called false resurgences: days when Prompto felt as if his illness had receded and he had all the strength and energy to be expected of someone his age.

Prompto _knew_ that, so he examined his motivations clearly. Ignis was working at the dining table, filling a notebook with his meticulously-lettered memoirs. He'd let Gladio read Prompto some of what he'd written the last time Gladio had come to visit, and Prompto'd been blown away. Ignis remembered _everything_ , as vividly as if it'd been just yesterday, and his narrative was full of humor and insight. Doubly impressive considering he had to plan every sentence out in his head before committing it to paper, and couldn't easily go back to make corrections. So: Ignis was busy, off in his happy place, and Prompto didn't want to disturb him.

Except he really needed to piss. The bathroom was right over there – _his_ bathroom, in his house, just a few steps away from the sofa where he was settled. He didn't feel like there was any false resurgence. He felt like shit: exhausted, aching, woozy from the medicine, et cetera et cetera. But he also felt like there was no reason he couldn't get up, go piss, and come back without making Ignis have to do battle with the wheelchair – or worse, fetch the urinal flask from the bedroom.

He managed three steps before Ignis was at his side, one arm going around his waist to take his weight as he tersely demanded to know what the hell Prompto was doing.

"Toilet," Prompto said, just as shortly. Walking and talking was more multitasking than he was usually up for. 

He could _feel_ Ignis' resistance to the idea, but after another dogged step Ignis said, "Fine," and braced his other hand against Prompto's shoulder.

The door was _right there_ , one step away, when Prompto was hit by vertigo so strong his vision went white and spotty and he nearly threw up from the dizziness. He was aware of gravity's weight pushing down, but the next thing he was conscious of was of lying on the ground. Or rather, lying on top of Ignis, who was breathing in a terribly well-regulated way and running his fingers through Prompto's hair.

"Are you alright?" Ignis asked, his voice strained but far more mild than Prompto deserved. "Are you injured?"

Prompto licked his lips, concentrating on getting enough air to be able to speak without coughing. He hated coughing. The effort gave him time to take inventory. He could wiggle his fingers and toes and didn't feel sharp pains anywhere. They'd both heard multiple lectures about the dangers of falls in the home, but Prompto was fine. Bruised, maybe, but everything bruised these days. He'd pissed himself when he'd passed out, which was humiliating as well as cold, but he hoped Ignis thought that was a fair trade for not cracking a hip.

"Okay," Prompto said. His voice sounded weird. "Sorry."

"We both knew better." Ignis' fingers strayed down to stroke Prompto's cheek, and he leaned into the caress. Ignis was warm and his touch was familiar and comforting. The last time Prompto'd collapsed on top of him like this had been after sex, far too many years ago.

"You know I love you, right?" Probably no less romantic scenario existed, but Prompto let his words stumble on. "I should have... done a lot of things different. Fixed things with you. Top of the list." Back then, how they'd both felt about Noct had seemed an insurmountable obstacle; now, Prompto didn't see it at all. There should have been enough love to go around for everyone.

"Shh." Ignis shifted minutely, and put his thumb over Prompto's lips. "Of course I know." He took a breath, and Prompto's head on his chest rose and fell. "And I love you. Please don't entertain regrets on my behalf. I'm simply glad to be here now." He sounded both sincere and profoundly embarrassed; Prompto tried to raise his head to see, but Ignis held him down with a light touch to his neck. "I'm afraid I must ruin the moment, however. I'm going to shift you onto the floor – _do not_ attempt to sit up – and go fetch clothes and a blanket while you call Gen to arrange an emergency visit."

"Don'wanna," Prompto slurred into the warmth of Ignis' shirt.

"Yes, well," Ignis said ruthlessly, and carried out his plan without any consideration of Prompto's desire to avoid consequences.

Prompto made the call as soon as the phone was pressed into his hand – like ripping off a band-aid, better to get it over with quickly. As soon as he was done, he let himself blank out for a bit, vaguely aware of a blanket and clean pajamas, and then Ignis bringing his pillow and a warm drink with a straw and settling on the floor next to him to mess with his hair some more. Even in the place where he was dreaming, Prompto found it comforting.

Gen and a burly nurse arrived with an unwelcome draft of cold wind from the front door, their steps shaking the floorboards. Prompto was checked over head to toe for injuries, pronounced just fine, and tossed back into bed (not really: Gen was a professional, but he did give Prompto a very disappointed look). Prompto was sinking back into his doze when he heard Gen say _Dude_ sharply, and Ignis answer _It's nothing_.

When Prompto was woken for dinner and medication, he found Ignis looking defensive, with his right forearm in a cast.

"I broke your _arm_?" Prompto blurted out in horror. "I _suck_ as a boyfriend."

Ignis tried to hold in his laughter, but it escaped, first as an undignified snort and then as a raging torrent.

Prompto tried to get him to explain, but every time he asked, "What?" Ignis started wheezing again. Finally, he just pulled him over to sit on the bed next to him – "So you don't fall over again, you idiot" – and had Gen bring him a warm wet cloth.

When Ignis was done with his inexplicable hysterics and started rubbing at his eyes, Prompto batted his hand away and had him put his visor on the side table. Tears, even from laughter, irritated his eyes, and the last thing they needed was Ignis getting another eye infection on top of Prompto breaking his arm.

"I can't believe you let me confess my love right after I _broke_ you," Prompto said. He ignored Ignis' grimace as he pushed the paralyzed left eyelid up to make sure gunk wasn't accumulating there. The first time he'd done this, Ignis had been so tense he'd been shaking, and Prompto terrified of hurting him (even though he'd known most of the nerves had been burned dead, it still _looked_ fucking painful). Over the years he'd gotten comfortable being up close and personal with Ignis' damaged eyes; that familiarity was almost a point of pride. He doubted Gladio knew how careful Ignis had to be, to preserve even the scraps of light he could still perceive.

"I assumed it was merely a sprain," Ignis said. He was still half-smirking, like he couldn't stop seeing the humor in the situation. "Both you and I have had far worse injuries. It didn't seem worth mentioning."

"I'll sprain your ass," Prompto threatened, and pulled Ignis down. He kissed both his eyebrows and his nose with loud affection. Ignis retaliated with a very sweet kiss that lingered on Prompto's lips even after Ignis went to go get ready for bed. _Just like lovers, or something_ , Prompto thought, and forced down the wistfulness that threatened to drown him.

Gen was staying over, and he'd moved the cot Ignis used out to the living room where he could hear if Prompto called him during the night. Which meant Ignis was bunking down with Prompto, but he still hesitated in the doorway on returning, as if not wanting to presume.

Like Prompto would ever send him out to sleep on the sofa. "Bed's plenty big enough," Prompto pointed out. "Plus there's less of me to get in the way, now."

Ignis shut the door behind him. "I remember the last time we shared a bed. There were noise complaints."

"I'm the quiet one," Prompto reminded him. " _You're_ the screamer."

"Hardly my fault," Ignis said primly. He navigated the bedrails smoothly and slid under the covers with the air of someone who'd won a discussion.

Reaching to the side, Prompto found Ignis' hand to stroke, or at least his fingers where they stuck out from the cast. For a moment, black frustration swept over him: how dare the universe return Ignis' love with pain, his eyes for Noct and now this. It wasn't fair. But then Ignis said, "That feels nice," sleep-mumbling but pleased, and the painful twisting of Prompto's heart eased.

"Tell you a secret... I don't really want to die," Prompto said, very quietly, in case Ignis was already asleep.

He got a sigh in answer, and then his hand was caught in a barely-there grip, just fingertips and thumb and Ignis' stubborn will. "I wish you wouldn't myself. But – imagine what you'll say when you see Noct again. He'll love seeing you. And you'll finally meet Lady Lunafreya. In the Beyond you won't be sick any more."

"I won't be able to see you," Prompto said, and his voice came out too thin and breathless.

Ignis leaned over and adjusted Prompto's pillows, and as he pulled back his hand trailed over Prompto's hair before he resettled. Probably he knew how comforting that felt. "When I pass over, I hope to be able to see you."

"That'll be cool," Prompto said, imagining it. He had trouble remembering Ignis' eyes before Altissia, even though he had pictures to jog his memory. He supposed Ignis' recall of what he looked like was even more capricious, some kind of idealized blend of yellow hair and freckles, snub nose and resting bitch face. "Take your time, though." There were so many things he wanted for Ignis – to have a home and a lover, to live a long life full of laughter, maybe even have kids or a cat or a dog. But he was cautious, now, after Gladio's veiled warning. He didn't want Ignis to feel compelled to do anything just for the sake of Prompto's last wishes. "I can't figure out if I want you to miss me or not."

The words hit the air uncomfortably, coming out all wrong if he judged by Ignis' silence, like he was hurt or offended.

"I mean – I want you to think about me, of course I do." Prompto tried to convey that by rubbing his thumb over the backs of Ignis' fingers, soothing him like a cat. "I want you to be like, _Prompto would've laughed at that or taken a picture of this or really liked this meal_. Except I don't want to think about you being sad. You don't deserve sadness."

"I can't decide whether to sell this bed or not," Ignis said, turning his face towards Prompto. His right eye reflected the glow from the night-light, almost as if he were staring at Prompto, but he suspected this was an accident and not Ignis trying to maintain the appearance of vision.

"It's a nice bed," Prompto said, after a moment. "Comfy."

"I'd hate to sleep here by myself." Ignis' shoulder rose and fell in a weary shrug. "But I suppose there'd be comfort in the sense of your presence. Your smell will linger, and I might wake and reach for you before remembering." He blinked, slow like a sigh. "Of course, if you _die_ in this bed, I'll probably have to burn it."

Prompto snorted. Trust Ignis to say something like that. "I'll try and be considerate about where I kick the bucket. Would you burn the bathtub?"

"I'd give it my level best." His jaw tightened, as if he were holding back a yawn. "Go to sleep."

"Love you," Prompto said, the way people did in TV shows. The words weren't hard to say after all, and he drifted off to sleep wondering why he'd never known that until now.

*

The next few days Prompto drifted from revelation to revelation but found he didn't have the energy to care anymore. He probably wouldn't walk again; he might not get out of bed again. When Gladio turned up to take over from Gen, now that Ignis was incapacitated, Prompto told him to go ahead and sell off all his camera equipment.

"I can't even lift a camera at this point," Prompto pointed out. "And you can burn the pictures."

" _I_ want your photos," Ignis said sharply from the next room. "All of them."

"All except one," Prompto corrected. When Ignis didn't reply he felt like a terrible person. "I know," he muttered to Gladio, whose expression was sorrow mixed with reprimand.

"I'll help you sort them," Gladio told him, and Prompto shrugged in agreement. He didn't think Gladio realized just how many there were. Boxes and boxes of printed-out pictures, and even more digital data. His life's work, he supposed. It seemed like such a small thing now. "You should let us tell people, now. They'd want to say goodbye. And," he lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Ignis is starting to go stir crazy."

"Sure," Prompto said, closing his eyes to make Gladio go away. "Plan me a kickass pre-wake."


	4. Month 4

Despite his reservations, what Gladio arranged turned out not to be that bad. Visitors came in a steady trickle – never enough to be overwhelming, never staying with Prompto long enough to wear him out. There were games for the kids in the yard, and beer and barbecue, and Ignis cooked and baked as much as he could, as if expecting an army to drop in. Prompto thought that was alarming, but Gladio said to let him. _It keeps people asking for recipes instead of how he feels._

Gladio put a bunch of camp tables together in the living room and upended boxes of pictures onto them, for visitors to sort into albums if they had a few spare minutes. Prompto had never been into gritty war photography or documenting wreckage and disasters; he liked portraits and wildlife shots and landscapes and animals being adorable. He could hear laughter as pictures were passed around, and people asking Gladio or Ignis for stories or explanations. Gladio let it slip that Prompto and Ignis had tied the knot, and there were congratulations after that, and people expressing regret that there weren't any wedding photos (Ignis found this hard to bear with good grace or without correcting their misunderstandings).

Prompto had almost forgotten how close their community of survivors was. He'd let himself become isolated by illness, but he belonged to these people, with their quiet send-off messages. _Wait for me on the other side_ , they said in lieu of goodbye. _Say hi to my mother – my kid – my buddies._

"It's weird," Prompto told Cindy, after she told him to look Cid up for her and give him a big hug from his best girl. "I'm dying because I'm not human enough." She was one of the few people he'd trusted with that secret; she gave his hand a gentle squeeze now. "I don't even know if I _can_ pass over."

She cut off that line of talk with a click of her tongue. "People ain't the only things with souls," she said, like that was an obvious truth. "You think there's no puppies and kittens in the beyond? Hell, I'm sure the prince's gorgeous car is there. He better not let you drive it." She dropped a kiss on Prompto's forehead to take the sting from her teasing. "You've got a pretty soul to match the rest of you. D'you remember that time..."

He did remember, that and all the other stories people kept reminding him of as they wandered in and out, sometimes clutching pictures. Memories swirled around him like a snowstorm, so much that he got lost a little at times. Which was okay: it distracted him from thinking about how he wasn't going to be making any more memories. No more roadtrips, no more hunting, no war, no camping out under the stars with Gladio, no fishing, no chocobos, no Ignis at his side or in his bed or touching his hair. 

He got a lump at the back of his throat when he thought about how one day, suddenly, after Noct was dead and gone, he'd picked up his camera again and started taking pictures because life went on, even after the deaths of kings, and heroes, and villains, oracles and prophesied saviors, parents and friends and brothers by the thousands. Others would continue on after Prompto walked away, off to where the sky was always blue and the shoreline went on forever.

After a couple of weeks of friends paying their final visits, Prompto stopped being hungry. With Ignis distracted by all the activity, Gladio was the first to notice. Prompto shook his head at dinner, after having turned away breakfast and lunch as well, and Gladio bit down hard on his lower lip. He looked furious, but then he sat down on the far side of the bed, out of view from the front room, curled up, and cried into his knees. Prompto managed to reach over and pat his head in a way that hopefully felt consoling, leaving his hand there when his arm started protesting.

"So much for magical thinking," Gladio said finally, grabbing a facecloth from the bedside supply to wipe his face clean. "Shit."

Prompto took a couple of breaths; sometimes he couldn't figure out how to speak, other times he didn't have the coordination for it. He'd said all he wanted to anyway, mostly. But: "Ignis," he got out, and then when Gladio looked alarmed, managed, "not today. Tomorrow."

"Promise," Gladio said, with a superstitious fervor, like Prompto was committed, now, to sticking around one more day.

 _Maybe_ , Prompto thought.

He didn't wake up in the morning. He missed part of the afternoon as well, and only managed to rouse because he thought he heard his mother talking on the phone with his homeroom teacher again. He always got in trouble for skipping school. He should stop doing that.

But when he opened his eyes, Ignis was there instead. He had one earbud in to listen to something while he rubbed Prompto's fingers gently. Or at least that's what he seemed to be doing. Prompto couldn't really feel his hands or his feet. Probably something to do with how the cold had seeped in. Not that he minded: freezing to death was supposed to be a good way to go. Better than stabbing or daemons, anyway.

After a while, Gladio wandered in and noticed his eyes were open. He stared at Prompto in a weird way until he observed a blink, and then said, "He's awake."

"Oh."

Ignis fumbled to turn his phone off and get rid of the headphones. Gladio moved swiftly to do it for him, saying he had two working hands and, "Go make nice to your husband, I got this."

"It's not a real marriage," Ignis murmured, his stock response, before turning back to orient himself to Prompto. Gladio snorted the way _he_ always did, and Prompto felt a bit lightheaded, as if in another time he'd be really pissed off around now.

"Is," he said, but then got derailed. Ignis was trying to tempt him into drinking something, and he had to say _no_ to that. He was doing a crappy job of keeping alert, and he could feel everything around him starting to fade out again. But still. "This is real."

Gladio clapped a hand on Ignis' shoulder. "There." He rubbed soothingly, as if that could even put a dent in Ignis' stiff posture. "Kiss and make up." He gave Prompto a wink and then hitched a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go put the coffee on."

Ignis kept quiet until Gladio started opening cupboards, and then in a rush he said, voice low and urgent, "You've always been my way through the darkness. You lighten my burdens and show me the world anew. I should have told you that, even though we forwent a proper ceremony and vows."

Prompto liked the sound of that; he thought he might be smiling. "Kiss," he reminded Ignis.

Ignis set his visor on the side table and then leaned over, timing his kisses to not get in the way of Prompto's labored breathing, each press of his lips gentle, a familiar comfort that eased Prompto back into the tide of his dreams.

Waking and sleeping became the same thing, and as the night passed Prompto became exhausted and restless at the same time. Simply breathing was a harsh effort, and time had come unspooled, or perhaps disconnected. He was freezing, Glacian ice inside his bones as the room around him wavered like a mirage on the road. He couldn't see the pictures on his wall in the glow from the nightlight, but he knew the memories were there, watching him. He was _sorry_.

Ignis, still seated at his side but dozing, stirred, and his movements to Prompto's eyes were like a disjointed rotoscope. One moment he sat, and the next he was standing over Prompto, touching his forehead and his hands, and then he was speaking, gone and there again.

"Hey," Prompto said, or tried to, but the person picking him up wasn't Ignis.

"Yes, we know." That was Ignis, sounding put-out. He was buttoning his black coat, and Prompto thought he could see rows of gold buttons for a moment, and the rain on his face. "Where's his hat?"

Gladio answered – Prompto wasn't paying attention – and then he was wrapped up in blankets and mittens and scarves, as if the cold wasn't already burning through his veins. Outside, the street was rough, and Ignis muttered in annoyance as they turned onto the path to the sea. Prompto leaned his head back against Gladio's strong shoulder and looked up. The stars were spinning and falling like fireworks, one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He wished Ignis could see.

They came to a stop where the sand was dry above the high-tide mark. Ignis sat and Gladio passed Prompto into his arms, fussing before sitting down himself at Ignis' side, Prompto's legs in his lap. The waves hissed up the shore, the stars fell, and Ignis was talking steadily, words carried off by the wind like candle smoke up to the gods.

They were waiting for something, but Prompto couldn't remember for what. He was forgetting a lot. Sometimes he forgot to breathe, and Ignis rubbed his chest to remind him, his breath hot across Prompto's cheek, like fire.

Gladio rumbled something, and Ignis curled his hand around the side of Prompto's face, telling him to open his eyes, the sun was rising. Prompto watched the light limn the water with gold and his chest tightened, like Gladio was hugging him the way he used to, before... before. Ignis was still talking, and Prompto didn't want him to stop. He wanted _so much_ that it hurt, and he couldn't even hold Ignis' hand in his own, or say anything. He'd wanted to say something.

He didn't remember what it was, staring out over the water until the chill wind raised goosebumps. He got up, rubbing his arms and stretching out limbs stiffened by cold, and started walking off along the shoreline. The path was familiar by now, but everything seemed clearer today: the sky brighter, the bridsong chirpier, the water clearer, sleek silver fish drifting through the depths. He scooped up a few stones and skipped them out as far as he could, and then clambored over some tumbled-down rocks in his way, taking a good look around from the top.

He'd never come this far before.

Just on the other side of a small creek was a jetty out over the water. It looked weather-worn but serviceable, and someone was sitting at the end, fishing. As Prompto watched, the man looked sharply in his direction, and then waved.

Prompto figured it was good to make friends in a new place, and he made his way over, calling _hello_ when he got close.

"Don't scare the fish," the man called back, probably scaring the fish even more. He set his rod down and jumped to his feet, and suddenly Prompto knew who he was.

"Noct?"

He got a hug for that, tight and fierce. "Been a while," Noct said. "Or has it?"

"I don't know," Prompto said. He couldn't bring himself to feel worried about all the holes in his memory, not here with the fresh air and blue sky and Noct clinging like an octopus. "Days? Years? Does it matter?"

Noct took a deep breath and let him go. "Luna's going to want to ask questions," he warned. "But you'll probably have answers by then." He shrugged. "If not, you can play with the dogs, I guess."

 _Luna._ "I always wanted to – " Prompto started to say, and then cut himself off with a laugh. "I guess I do remember."

"I missed you," Noct said. In this place he didn't look young or old, which Prompto thought suited him. He'd never had enough time; he'd had so much time stolen from him. "Didn't think you'd be the first of us to make it here."

"The second," Prompto reminded him. But he didn't like remembering that.

"Whatever." Noct put his hand on his shoulder and gestured at the lake. "Help me catch lunch, and we'll talk."

Prompto didn't recall enjoying fishing much, but he felt the familiar weight of his camera in his vest pocket. He slid it out like an old friend. It felt like ages since he'd taken a picture.

He pulled Noct close, cheek to cheek, and snapped a picture of them both, laughing, blue sky above and endless days before them.


End file.
